


Monster

by Oienel



Series: Monster [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Blood, Disability, F/M, Genocide, Occupation, Rebellion, Terror, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 05:19:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10633041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: In times of terror, in times of depression, in times of hopelessness, the first and foremost is making sure that people around you don’t give in to despair. To ridicule your opponent, is to give hope to your compatriots. To stand against destruction of your culture, is being faithful to your country and its nation. To obstruct your oppressor, is to fight.It's a story of lost childhood, of terror, of hopes crushed and believes forgotten. It's a story of hardest choices and impossible decisions.It's a story of people that refused to give up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by EXO's Monster.
> 
> Based mostly on history of my hometown during WWII.

“Will you marry me?”

You jerk your head up. You no longer see the bland soup you were eating, now you can see mostly empty room, with white walls adorned with cracks under the ceiling. On the other end of the old, tattered table Jongdae is sitting. His spoon is resting on the table, even if you can see leftover soup still in his bowl.

He is looking at you – his shoulders are slumped and his body emanates exhaustion, but his eyes are shining with hope.

Hope is the only thing that you have left.

Three years ago you were imagining this moment, you were dreaming about it. You saw romantic gestures, memorable place, elegant ring and bubbling happiness filling your body.

Life was different three years ago.

“I will.” You answer quietly, lifting your spoon and looking down again. He lifts his spoon as well and resumes eating. No place for excitement.

“I will ask Chanyeol for wedding rings.” Jongdae says between sips.

“Good.” You say. It’s good to have a friend like that. “I think that I still have my mother’s wedding dress. If I find it, I’m sure that I will be able to fit it.”

“Good.”

Now, the silence is not a stranger. His hand covering yours makes you look up. He is smiling at you. The smile you remember from before this whole mess, the disarming, warm, yet cheeky smile. But now it’s only a shadow of its original.

Your smile is equally weak.

“I love you, do you know that?” You know. You know that, that’s one of the things that keeps you up and going. It’s enough to lighten your mood. Your eyes squint when warmth fills you up.

“I know. I love you, too.”

*

Your small heels click on the pavement. You keep slipping on the uneven surface, but you refuse to wear different shoes. It’s a last piece of luxury in your life, and you are not going to give it up.

Life seems normal, the street is busy, filled with people. It’s just like before. Except for the fact that you are walking to reach your goal – public transportation is not an option anymore. It’s not public anymore.

You try not to notice that you cannot go straight to your destination, you cannot walk down the streets you used to roam freely. Now there is a high wall in the middle of your city.

No one seems to notice the posters on the walls. Red sheets of paper like salt in your eyes. And in the eyes of every pedestrian.

_One hundred for every Black._

It’s a mantra you've heard so many times.

The red atrocities are glued to the walls every few meters. But that’s not the only abnormality around you. You can clearly pinpoint the black uniforms in the crowd.

Uneasiness settles in your gut. You are not sure why, but it seems that there are more black dots in the crowd than usual. You feel exposed and in danger, even if you are walking in the broad daylight. You feel as if you are going to suffocate. On a whim you decide to enter the first shop you see. It’s a bookstore and you sigh internally.

You don’t have money, your salary is not due in ten more days. And even if you had money you wouldn’t spend it on books. It’s not like there is something worthwhile to buy.

You barely pass the threshold when the sound of siren pierces the air. You turn around on your heel, adrenalin hitting you and even before you can see what is happening on the street, you already feel nauseous. The quick steps behind you are the only warning you get, before the shop owner shoves you out of the way and urgently closes the doors. You stumble on the scraped floor, but somebody catches you. It’s one of the other shoppers, now gathering near the windows.

Their relief is palpable and you are disgusted at them and yourself for feeling the same relief, when the army cars come to a halt in the middle of the street, wheels screeching. People on the street panic, they try to run, they try to enter any shop, they try to hide in the gates. Oppressors wearing black uniforms spill from the cars, like predators in the middle of panicked herd. Truncheons make a way, militia is driving panicked crowd to the walls.

You know what awaits the poor souls on the street, you know that, other customers in the shop knows that, the victims already know that they are victims. They know that they won’t see their families again. The only question is: will they live to the dawn?

You bite your lips, thanking God for sparing you. Thanking for the thought that made you enter this shop. Now you are safe, watching the pedestrians being rounded up under the walls.

The commotion in the middle of the street catches your eye. One desperate group decides to fight. You see how the leader of the group gets beaten, black batons relentless. They come down, strike after strike, arms, head, stomach, back – the rebellious man coughs up with blood, the red liquid adorning the pavement. The officers make the other guy help the beaten one walk to the wall.

Your heart fills with the hatred for the black uniforms and pride that your nation still fights. You know that this man will die. And his friend will too. But at least they fought.

Too young to die.

You stare at them, as they make their way to the wall of the building you are in. The beaten guy refuses to fall down, even when his legs are shaking – you can sense his pride, his honor. He lifts his head up few meters before they reach the concrete wall.

Broken sound escapes your mouth.

His nose is broken, there is blood running down his temple, the front of his shirt is drenched with his own blood, his face is swollen – but you know that you are looking at your fiancé. You wail one more time, and push through the crowd to the window. You don’t realize, that you are crying, that you are screaming, that you are scratching the glass and wood.

The other clients are grabbing you, trying to bring you back, bring you down and the commotion grabs Jongdae attention.

Your eyes meet through the glass and your heart stills in your chest when he recognizes you. His pupils grow and you see his sudden panic. He jerks in your direction as if he was going to run to you. He looks at you for maybe a second, and then his head goes down.

You stopped screaming, when you saw his eyes, but now your scream comes back and you find the handle of the doors. You yank it, even when you know it’s closed. You yank it, knowing that going out means a certain death.

You don’t see Jongdae anymore, he has probably reached the wall. You can picture him there, with his hands on the wall like every person in the vicinity, with his own blood dripping down his chin.

The higher officer in the black uniform gets off the car. He slowly walks down the street, clearly enjoying the performance.

Some hand lands on your wrist, and the arm encircles your waist. The person yanks you back, and the crowd in the shop moves to allow them to drag you back, away from the window. You fight, you scream, until the hand from your wrist lands on your mouth, to muffle your lament.

He’ll die. He’ll die, and you’ll live the rest of your damned life with the weight of being so close, and yet not able to help him.

He will die.

 

You open your mouth to voice your demur, but you notice the black uniform on the end of the street. You can only see the hat of the officer above the crowd gathering near the windows.

“Calm down, calm down, calm down, you won’t help him like that.” Soft but urgent words in your ear still you. The voice is familiar and the meaning comes across – is there a way to help Jongdae?

The officer outside is speaking. Now, that you are no longer screaming, you can hear his voice, his unfamiliar, unpleasant language invading the ears of your compatriots. You all understand it, you all speak it, but it’s not your language. It will never be.

_For every Black, a hundred of you will die._

“We have time. They still need to check documents.” The voice is speaking again and you grab his hand to pry it away from your mouth. As soon as he notices that you are not screaming anymore he lets you go.

You turn around and your suspicions are confirmed, when you find yourself face to face with Baekhyun.

You don’t know what he is doing here, and you are not about to ask.

Blacks outside have already started checking the documents. Every public worker with work documents will be spared.

Jongdae is not a public worker.

You can feel the despair creeping up your spine, but you know that you need to focus. He is still alive. You see that Baekhyun is nodding to somebody over your shoulder, but before you can turn around and check, he grabs your hand and drags you deeper into the shop. He walks fast, and he doesn’t stop when you hit the counter, as he brings you to the back room.

He takes keys from the hook on the wall and uses them to open the back doors. You don’t hesitate when he sneaks out. You are in the enclosed backyard, tall blocks shielding it. On your left you can see the mouth of the passage, and that’s where Baekhyun disappears.

You just follow, and as you round the corner, you see a group of people standing there, another lucky citizens that managed to escape. They gathered near the wooden gate, and your friends is pushing his way through them.

You quickly follow, having put all your faith in his hands. As you make your way through the group you think that you see another familiar face, but you don’t dwell on that, you don’t have enough time to waste it like this.

Baekhyun is standing with his ear to the gate. His hand is lifted, but you are sure that he doesn’t even know that he raised his arm – he is focused on the sounds on the other side of the gate.

“I think they are rounding people up so they can pack them to the cars, right now.” He whispers to you. You can hear blacks shouting orders and shuffling of feet and occasional grunt or pained moan, so you can agree with that statement. Baekhyun still has his ear glued to the gate and he uses his raised hand to knock on the wood. Two knocks, pause, and another one.

It’s a signal, you realize, as the same pattern comes back. As the third knock sounds, Baekhyun yanks the door back and two bodies stumble inside. The first one just falls to the ground, and the other one immediately helps Baekhyun close the door. It’s quick, and efficient, doors open for maybe a second and not wider than 20cm.

Somebody is pushing you out of the way. Again. The guy crunches to hoist up the man laying on the ground. Baekhyun is helping him and the other rescued guy joins it. As they straighten up you realize that you are looking at Jongdae and his friends.

“Quick. He needs help.” Says Chanyeol, as if it wasn’t obvious. Your heart is in your throat. You are not safe yet, and you are sure that Blacks will storm the gate any minute, when they realize that two of the hundred are gone.

The rest of bystanders have already realized that, since the passage is empty except for you and four men. The guys are already walking, your fiancé clearly fighting to remain conscious. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo are holding him up, and Baekhyun is leading the way. You follow them to the backyard and back into the shop. Baekhyun throws you keys and you lock the doors as they lay Jongdae on the floor.

In the seconds you are kneeling on the floor, your sub-consciousness already assessing his wounds. Kyungsoo gets down on the floor on the other side and Chanyeol hands him the first-aid box.

That’s probably the only aid he is going to get.

Baekhyun brings the bowl of water. It should be at least warm, but you know that in this situation you should be thankful for what you have.

That thought sticks to you, when you hear the first gunshot. You freeze, with your fingers going white on the fabrics, as you try to clean the blood off Jongdae’s face. His eyes may be out of focus, but he senses your thoughts and his eyes find yours.

He smiles weakly at you, but says nothing, clearly in pain.

Gunshot after gunshot resonates in the air, with the accompaniment of pained screams and dull thumps of bodies hitting the pavement, and you bite back the tears and go back to cleaning his face.

“His ribs are broken. At least three.” Kyungsoo says and you nod, not trusting yourself enough to say a word. As you thought earlier his nose is also broken. Baekhyun and Chanyeol are discussing something in the back, and the surrealism of this moment hits you.

_Why were they here? All of them? What for?_

Water in the bowl is crimson red and Baekhyun goes to change it. Jongdae’s face is no longer covered in blood, but he is no longer holding to his consciousness, either. You are not surprised that the pain took over, he looks horrible. His face is swollen, he has black eyes, and you are not even going to start on the rest of his body.

_Why?_

_Why has he done that?_

The shop owner comes in to tell Baekhyun that the roundup is over. You are relieved. You know all of you is. But at the same time you feel that you betrayed your own – you know that you will see one hundred of lifeless bodies under the wall. The once white walls will be splattered with blood.

The despair takes you over. How are you going to transport him home? You cannot roam the streets with Jongdae. And you cannot stay here, curfew is close.

You see Kyungsoo standing up. He pats Baekhyun’s shoulder and without a word he walks out. You sit there on the floor, trying to clean the blood out of Jongdae’s ear, it’s futile and it’s not the most urgent, but you start to break under the pressure.

Only yesterday you agreed to marry him, today you nearly lost him.

There is hand on your shoulder.

“It’s ok, it’s ok.” Chanyeol says it as if it was a prayer. Maybe it is. But is he praying for Jongdae, or for your country?

You nod, eyes still on your fiancé’s face – so deformed, so maltreated.

You don’t know how long you kneel on the dirty floor in the bookstore backroom. You don’t know how long you drag the wet cloth over his skin. You don’t know how many times Baekhyun changes water for you.

Kyungsoo’s return wakes you up from your stupor. Baekhyun delicately grabs your hands, and helps you up to your feet. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo once again hoist your man up. He wakes up as well, his pained moan breaking your heart. It’s slowly getting dark outside, shop owner is standing in the entrance, his eyes are scanning the street. There is a car outside.

You are surprised. Ha! You are stunned, that they have managed to get a car. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo try to be delicate, but you all know that the time is against you. The curfew is mercilessly coming. Kyungsoo gets in the back to hold Jongdae up, Chanyeol sits next to the driver, who sends you a wink.

It makes you feel better, against your better judgment. But the fact that Jongin is as cheerful as always, even with his friend beaten senseless and lifeless bodies under the wall, gives you hope.

“You should not travel with them.” Says Baekhyun. You nearly sputter. If they think that you’ll leave Jongdae in this state they are wrong. “It’s dangerous.”

That comes through to you.

“Go.” You say to Jongin, and he doesn’t need to be told twice. He starts the engine and drives away. You feel the lump in your throat, but you need to  get moving as well if you want to reach your home before the curfew.

You nearly throw up, when you reach the first body.

Young man with his head unnaturally twisted, his hand clenched on the young girl’s photo.

*

You don’t talk about that. You don’t ask, he doesn’t speak up first. But you start waking up in the middle of the night, cold sweat covering your body, and you search for him in the dark. He is always there, waking up the moment you sit up. It’s a sudden movement and in the last few years your nation developed the defense mechanism – light sleep, because one never knows when they’ll decide to come for you.

He holds you close, whispering reassurances in your ear.

Two weeks later your quiet household is stirred with a doorbell. You are sitting in your living room, Jongdae is reading, and you are sewing – your mother’s wedding dress needs some stitches.

He looks at you at the sound of the doorbell, but nonetheless, he folds his newspaper and stands up. He looks pained, but at least his face is no longer swollen. You still bandage his torso every day, but other than that he is mostly healed. The pain wiping his mind, the hell of the first few days already fading in your memory.

You follow him with your eyes, as he leaves the room. You are on the edge, nervous, not knowing what the fate decided to bring you.

“Congratulations, man!” Chanyeol’s voice reaches your ears and you smile as you hear more voices chipping in. You know all of them and you stand up, folding the dress. You follow in your fiancé footsteps and you find him and the group of his friends in the hall. They are congratulating him on getting engaged, and the peacefulness of this scene warms you up.

You also get your share of congratulations, but you also get a condolences for choosing Jongdae, and you laugh, as the butt of the joke hits Sehun in the back of his head.

You go to the kitchen to make tea (you cannot offer them anything more, but everybody is accustomed – grocery shopping has become an extreme sport in this last few years), and when you enter the living room with a tray, they are already seated, and they fall strangely silent when they hear you. It is, until Chanyeol decides to show you the rings he made for you.

“I managed to snatch silver plates!” He says, as he fishes for them in his pockets. You put the tray on the table, and you are surprised to see fruits – it’s hard to buy them. You are moved by this gesture. Finally Chanyeol finds the silver rings and triumphantly shows you them. Those are simple bands, nothing engraved in them, but it’s still more than an ordinary person can get.

But Chanyeol works in the arms factory. Not only is he immune to roundups, but he can also get more than ordinary person can.

But he works for the occupant.

You know how it is, and you are thankful for all the times he helped you, but the knowledge that he makes cartridges for the weapon that later kills your compatriots makes you sick.

Jongdae throws his arm around you when he walks up to see the rings.

“They are beautiful.” You say, angry at yourself that the thought, that few years ago those would be too brusque for your wedding rings, appeared in your head. The pitying smile on Chanyeol’s face tells you that he had the same thought.

The gathering is nearly normal. If one decided to ignore nearly empty table and the weariness clinging to the participants, one could say that it was just a meeting to congratulate the engagement.

But as you walked out to make more tea, you saw for sure that it was only a cover. That they met with other purpose in mind.

You suspected that earlier – especially when you thought about fact that Jongdae, Chanyeol, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo were present at the roundup. And that Baekhyun was in the shop – safe, so was Kyungsoo – hidden in the passage. And Chanyeol who works for the occupant was on the street, but nonetheless safe.

(And the fact that Jongdae was facing the biggest danger made you sick with worry and anger.)

But the fact that Jongdae and Chanyeol were standing conveniently right next to the gate that was connected to the bookstore made it certain that the guys were up to something.

This time you aren’t as delicate when you put the tray on the table. You put your hands on your waist as you scan the room.

“Tell me what you are plotting. Now!”

Your answer is silence. You look around the room and see how they try to communicate nonverbally. You are bewildered to see that Jongdae is shaking his head obviously wanting to keep you in the dark. The first one to break the silence is Chanyeol.

“Let’s tell her!” He says hitting his knees with his hands. The warmth fills you up and you send him a thankful look.

“I’m not going to take risk!” It’s Jongdae who counters that, and you know that he probably wants to protect you (from what exactly you don’t know), but you feel betrayed.

“And we are not authorized to say anything.” Junmyeon chips in and your fiancé nods as if that was proving his point.

“Neither was Jaewon.” Says Yixing reaching forward for his tea. Because of that he misses the way the whole room looks at him. You can sense the wide range of emotions after this statement: from bewilderment and pure rage to resignation and slight amusement.

“O!” Exhales Chanyeol, pointing at clueless Yixing.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jongdae growls and you don’t like seeing him like that. “It’s too dangerous!”

“But it’s her decision. And her free will, you cannot take that away from her.” Says Minseok pointedly. You are thankful, even if you are not exactly happy with being ‘her’. You have a name.

“But still we cannot tell anything to the person that has not been checked.” Says Kyungsoo. You don’t have time to take offence, because Jongdae jumps to his feet, his hands clenching on Kyungsoo’s collar, jerking him up.

“Are you trying to say that my fiancée is not to be trusted?!” He is fuming, as he shakes Kyungsoo. Everybody jumps to their feet to pry Jongdae away.

“Nobody is implying that you are not to be trusted.” Says Junmyeon to you and then turns around to Jongdae who allows Sehun to push him down on the couch. “But it is a rule we have to remember.”

“But don’t you think that the more of us the better?” Asks Jongin quietly. “ And, Jongdae, she is already in danger, just for being your fiancée.”

That seems to break your fiancé resolve. He slumps back on the couch and he pinches the bridge of his nose. You don’t like that. You don’t like being at his mercy. Being at somebody’s mercy is not something any of your compatriots can stomach.

Not when you liver at the Black’s officers mercy.

“We need to clean this place, don’t you think, honey?” He suddenly says, and it looks like it was some kind of a sign, because Baekhyun and Chanyeol stand up and they go to close the windows, and Kyungsoo moves to turn on the radio. It’s deliberate and serious demeanor. It’s shocking, eyes-opening experience and it hits you that your childhood is over. Long over. It ended the moment Blacks invaded your country.

But it is still startling to see guys acting so serious, when in your memory they are still those young boys always ready to prank and quick to laugh. Your age still says ‘fun and games’, but your experiences say ‘adulthood’.

Jongin pats Sehun’s shoulders and they grab their teas and go together to stand in the window, where they start to chat. It looks natural and in the sudden moment of clarity you understand that they are scouts. Sehun is lazily looking out the window, his eyes indifferently following pedestrians on the street.

Jongdae stands up and nods at Chanyeol. Together with Minseok they reach your mother’s antique cupboard. You observe them without a single word, feeling how the situation overwhelms you.

Three man start pushing and pulling the giant piece of furniture until there is a space between the wall and the cupboard, wide enough to fit arm inside. You are bewildered that Jongdae was not only hiding something from you, but on top of that he was hiding something in your apartment.

You’ve yet to see what that is, but you are smart enough to understand that whatever you are going to see, it’s enough to get arrested, tortured, and finally mercifully killed.

After landing in Gore, the Black’s prison (which colloquial name comes from the amount of blood that has been spilled on its floors), being killed is an act of mercy.

You still cannot believe that Jongdae exposed you to such danger.

But when he comes back with a piece of cloth in his hands and he gives it to you, your fingers testing the brusque material, you can’t blame him anymore.

Not when in your hands there is a armband, with colors and symbol long forgotten in this place.

Your national coat of arms.

*

_In times of terror, in times of depression, in times of hopelessness, the first and foremost is making sure that people around you don’t give in to despair. To ridicule your opponent, is to give hope to your compatriots. To stand against destruction of your culture, is being faithful to your country and its nation. To obstruct your oppressor, is to fight._

Little leaflet seems heavier than it should. Every word engraves itself into your heart, your depressed, longing heart. It’s surprising weight comes from the weight of your embarrassment. How could you give up your homeland so easily? How could you eat, sleep, live, love, when your country is bleeding, is dying, under the sole of its oppressors.

You don’t cry. You don’t have the right to.

“What can I do?”

*

Sabotage needs courage, all right. It also needs detailed and meticulous planning. It needs resources, and mystery, and various means of communication.

But the most important is patience.

Patience that allows you to stick to your ideals, to your beliefs, even if the situation seems helpless.

Patience that allows you to wait for another occasion, when something unexpected happens.

Patience that allows you to write another letter on the brick wall, even if Jongin is whistling the sign, that somebody is coming. But to make the sentence visible, letters need to be big enough and clear. So even if your heart is speeding, your arm is sure and you work focused.

At the last letter your fingers start slipping. You can hear the steps approaching and you shoot panicked glance to Jongin. You lose your focus and piece of chalk hits the pavement. You can hear Minseok cursing behind you, and you quickly pick up the chalk to finish the last letter. The person will turn the corner any second.

“Excuse me? Could you tell me what time is it?” Jongin voice reaches your ears and thankful, you finish the last line. You turn around just in time to see Minseok running to you on the balls of his feet to make the least noise.

“Half an hour till the curfew.” You hear brusque voice, and the pedestrian comes into your line of sight, just when you slip your hand on Minseok’s arm. The chalk is already safely stored in Miseok’s pockets. His stained fingers are hidden as well. Your writing hand is closed loosely in fist to hide white powder.

You walk together, looking like a pair, relaxed and natural. As you pass the man which presence made you rush, you can see his eyes reading the phrase you and Minseok left on the walls. The minute smile that appears on his face is enough of encouragement.

You can see Jongin’s back at the end of the street, disappearing in the late evening crowd.

On the wall the words are calling for strengthening of hearts.

_We’ll live forever._

*

Nobody lifts their head when another person enters. You are putting together another sentence, little letters forming line in the frame. Kyungsoo is sitting at the table in the corner, focused on his documents. He is the brain of your organization, he is the mastermind behind every successful sabotage (and those that failed as well).

Yixing is printing the leaflets with message send from your government on the exile. He is working hard, and fast, it’s not the first time you are printing in this basement. Jongdae is packing already printed papers, and you’ll smile at him, if he looked your way. But he is focused on the newly arrived distributor.

Your hands still when you see his white face. You know what he is going to say even before he opens his mouth. You can see that Kyungsoo knows it as well, because he stands up abruptly, and gathers his documents.

“Blacks.” Poor man is at the verge of hyperventilating. He must have run all the way here, and you are thankful for his stamina. “They are coming.”

There is rush, but there is no panic. Panic leads to doom. Rush and quick thinking is needed, mistakes coming from them – not.

Yixing is already gathering the press. It’s a small thing, ridiculously so, but among the equipment inside the most valuable. You put the stamps back into their box and Jongdae takes it from you and packs with the press. Distributor is already gone, and Kyungsoo is walking out, with Yixing tagging after him, clutching equipment to his chest.

 You all want nothing more than to take all the already printed leaflets, but you cannot. It’s too much of a risk, it’s better to reprint them, then risk your head. And your family and friends, since Blacks would torture you for the names. Until you give up.

Or die.

You look around checking for any left trace that could lead them to you, with Jongdae calling urgently your name. You stop yourself from snatching one leaflet and you rush to your man. Leaflet like that in your pocket in case of being caught…

This place was chosen for having two exits. One leading to the main street, other allowing a quick escape. But how can one talk about quick escape with not-that-light press to carry? It takes you one exchange of glances to take the main exit.

Your risk could mean a continuity of sabotage. Both press and your mastermind are escaping the other route.

Just before you exit, Jongdae kisses you. It’s overdramatic, but you take it. The adrenaline rush that it gives you is a gift sent from heaven.

The black army car halts few meters from the door in the same exact moment in which you emerge from the building. Jongdae squeezes your hand as the militant soldiers starts pouring from the vehicle, it’s time to use your adrenaline.

You make a run for it. The hated language starts resounding behind your backs, orders to stop reverberating in the air. The accompaniment of the heavy army boots is enough to keep your pace up. Till the end of the street Jongdae is leading you, never letting go of your hand, and never looking back. Your throat hurts, your legs hurt, your damned heels are slipping on the uneven pavement, but you hold yourself up, taking courage from his warm hand and knowledge that if they are running after you, they are not thinking about searching for other collaborators.

You nearly fall, when you take a tight corner. But the momentum sends you forward, and now you are the one pulling Jongdae forward, his harsh breath reaching your ears, barely audible over ruckus made by your chasers.

You run into one of the main arteries of the city and it is a double edged sword. You could disappear in the crowd, but at the same time, there are more Blacks around, so you just run forward, until you emerge on the other side of the avenue. Running through this crowd helps you put distance between you and the militia.

You are drenched in sweat, both from strain and the horror of the situation. But you cannot give up. Jongdae once again takes a lead, pulling you into smaller street. You’ve lost your orientation, and you only run, your heels clicking.

If you survive this, you’ll put them in the bottom of your drawer. Time to give up the last piece of luxury in your life.

For your country.

You weave your way through the maze of streets and finally, just before you take next corner, Jongdae halts. You stop abruptly, focusing on the sounds coming from behind you. Jongdae takes a risk of looking back. There is no sign of pursuit, so you link your arm with his and you brush his hair with your fingers. He pats your head to touch up your hairdo, and like that you walk onto the street.

You don’t talk much when you walk back to your flat. Curfew is closing in and you need to keep high pace to reach your building in time. Also the adrenaline from the chase is not leaving your body.

Last few steps to your apartment are the worst, but as soon as you enter and Jongdae closes the door, you lean on the wall and look at him.

At the same time you start laughing, freely and unabashedly, feeling how the tension leaves your body. Jongdae crowds you against the wall and he kisses you. It’s a lazy kiss, more like a seal confirming that you survived than a romantic gesture.

But you still like it.

It’s long after curfew before you enter your living room.

It’s no longer your living room, it’s more like safe house. It’s a place of gathering, place for planning, but there is nothing that could make the officers from Department of Security arrest you.

And they don’t need much.

You can see Kyungsoo and Yixing, which means that your mad dash was useful. But there is also Jongin, Minseok and Sehun. They are gathered around your coffee table maps splayed on its surface. Everyone except Kyungsoo look up, when you enter, and Jongdae starts to tell them how you escaped, when Kyungsoo interrupts him.

“They have Junmyeon.”

 

Life is sardonic, sadistic piece of shit.

You can spend hours making plans, days preparing, weeks weaving a web, months making sure there is no loose string that could undo the whole structure – and then comes rain destroying your work in merely seconds.

Junmyeon (nom de guerre Suho) wasn’t caught in the raided safe house. He wasn’t caught red handed, while writing phrases on the walls. He wasn’t caught ripping Black’s posters off, nor was he caught tearing the Black flags off the buildings. He wasn’t caught throwing a brick into shop window of some man, who decided to be a little too close to the oppressor for the liking of other compatriots.

He was caught in the roundup. Just like that. He went out to do grocery shopping, his mother has asked him to buy some tea. And simple like that he found himself in the middle of cordoned off street. He wasn’t killed on the spot, it wasn’t that type of roundup. Blacks were in the dire need of workforce, as they have taken up the new project, back in on their lands. So the easiest way to get the workers is to take some from the streets of occupied cities.

 Luckily the young resistance member happened to be in the shop during that time. Not only did she recognize Junmyeon, she was also smart enough to immediately report it to her superior. He informed the headquarters and they noticed Junmyeon’s unit. Namely, Kyungsoo’s unit.

Getting somebody off the transport to Blacken Lands isn’t easy. But it’s doable. Especially when you know from where he will be starting.

Forced laborer, taken from the street, needs to be recorded. To do that, militia officer, still on the street, takes the ID from the victim. At this step they check whether the person they’ve taken is useful to the regime. Workers are set free.

But Junmyeon was no worker.

They are packed like sardines into militia’s vehicles and transported to the closest Deportation Unit, where they are recorded and from there they are send off to the Blacken territories.

But as it was already stated, life is a cruel sonova bitch.

 During body search in the Deportation Unit, Junmyeon’s pockets haven’t revealed much. Some coins, matches, keys and a piece of white chalk.

This white rock was a difference between forced labor and Gore.

The day, when his unit was frantically searching for him in the Deportation Units all over the city, he spent in the cell, with other unlucky compatriots. He helped them as much as he could, with a lump in his throat, and nervous rock settled in his stomach.

The day, when his unit realized that he did not leave the city with any transport, he spent  on the cold floor in the investigation room in the headquarters of Department of Security. The first day was easy. They beat him. With fists, when he was sitting on the chair. With batons, when he fell down. Question asked was easy: “names”.

The second day they were beating him with batons, when he was sitting. When he fell down, they started kicking. If he passed out, they’d wake him out with a bucket of water. It also cleaned his blood off the floor.

The third day they broke his fingers. The next they broke his arms. On the fifth day they broke his legs.

On the sixth day, Junmyeon noticed that passing out meant no more pain. He stopped protecting his head from the blows. One nice strike would mean a break for his exhausted mind.

He no longer knew what was the question.

When Black officer decided to call it a day, they would drag him out of the room by his arms. He would pass out pretty quickly from the pain, as they dragged him down the hallway and down the stairs. They’d throw him into prison vehicle, where other prisoners, not as maltreated, would help him survive the journey.

People in his cell helped him to the canteen, carrying him on the blanket. Missing nails weren’t as bad as the treatment he had to survive.

*

The General Staff said no.

Conspiracy is not done by oneself. It’s a structure. Especially when one is talking about whole Underground. It has a clear military-like structure and its units are as disciplined as the regular soldiers are.

Because they are soldiers. Proud, and loyal, and ready to die for their Homeland.

So when the highest authority says no, it’s not a suggestion. It’s an order. And soldier should listen.

Even if it’s a stupid-ass decision.

“He is not the first, and definitely not the last.” They’ve heard. “We weren’t rescuing our high officials.” “It’s too much of a risk.” “You want to expose us, just to rescue one person.”

The General Staff said no.

But Kyungsoo (nom de guerre D.O)  was not going to give up so easily. He acknowledged the decision and pleaded again, at the same time drawing up the plans.

Baekhyun (nom de guerre Speedy, for being the fastest while writing slogans on the walls) was the first one to see Junmyeon (nom de guerre Suho). But it took him a while before he understood who  he was looking at.

Baekhyun worked as a clerk in the local sweets factory. It wasn’t exactly under Black’s government protection, but locals couldn’t afford sweets, so the only customers were Blacks. It was Kyungsoo (with blessing from the GS) who asked him to try working his way into Headquarters of Department of Security, trying to sell sweets.

It turned out that in the place worse than hell, in the place marked with agony and anguish, the demand for sweet snacks was enormous.

So Baekhyun was one of the few locals allowed to roam freely Militia District, which was ‘Only For Blacks’ zone.

Junmyeon wasn’t conscious, when Baekhyun saw him. Officers dragging him down the stairs stopped when they saw sweets’ distributor and they left their victim half laying on the floor, half on the steps. Baekhyun did his best not to throw up when he was taking their order. The lifeless body in front of him purple. There was no place without a bruise. He could see that the nails of man’s left hand were missing and Speedy guessed that the other hand was looking the same. The victim was mostly hairless, but the cut on his head was uneven as if somebody was yanking hair out of his head.

When the Blacks went back to their work, one again dragging their victim, Baekhyun saw his face for the first time. It was swollen, purplish, covered in blood, with nose looking as if it was broken many times in short period of time (what probably was true), but nonetheless it was Junmyeon.

To stand there and helplessly stare as your friend is dragged down the stairs, unconscious, maltreated, with his head banging into every step, is a hell on earth.

The General Staff said yes.

 

The General Staff said no.

Everybody was on their positions, scouts already looking out for prison vehicle, three shock troops making triangle on the street. Civilians clothes on, seemingly absorbed with conversation, or newspapers, or waiting in the queue for toilet paper. There was never enough toilet paper, so when gossip spread that one shop did have it, people could stay in lane for hours.

Bottles filled with petrol, with rags serving as the caps hidden under clothes, secretly acquired weapons already loaded and waiting.

The General Staff said no.

Jongin (nom de guerre Kai) started weaving his hat. The prison car was coming. Nothing changed on the street. People were still standing in the queue, people were still sitting on the benches, people were still chatting.

The General Staff said no.

They could already see the car coming. The driver did not rush. What for? He was driving Black’s car, no one in the right mind would attack it. Especially knowing that inside there are their companions. The slow speed was also regulated from above – with a speed like that everyone could see the black, massive machine transporting people to the Department of Security. It was a display of power, meant to dishearten the citizens.

They swore in the name of God, to be loyal to their Homeland, to relentlessly guard its honor, to unswervingly fight for its freedom, till their last breath. But their also swore to be absolutely obedient to their superiors and to unfalteringly protect the conspiracy.

Suho even when faced with unthinkable torture was faithful to his oath. He kept his silence, every single one of co-conspirators were still free.

The General Staff said no.

How could they rescue him, while breaking their oath? How could they still fight for their homeland, after such a disgrace? How could they face Suho, after they give up their oath to rescue him? How could they dump him with such a burden?

The General Staff said no.

The prison vehicle passed the street. The command did not sound.

Because The General Staff said no.

*

He did it.

You don’t know how, but you don’t need to. The only important thing is: Kyungsoo got the consent. There was only one condition, another person would call the shots during the action.

Understandable. Kyungsoo, as well as any of you is involved. Emotions cloud the judgement.

It doesn’t matter.

As long as you are standing on this street, Jongdae’s hand on the small of your back, warm smile on his face, as he looks at you. Your smile is equally warm and you know you are flushed, already lost in his eyes.

He says something to you and you giggle in answer, one of your hands coming up to rest on his chest.

The other one clenches around neck of a bottle filled with petroleum, hidden between your bodies.

Your eyes catch Yixing (nom de guerre Lay) few meters from you, sitting on the bench, playing on the guitar. His team is gathered around him, listening, seemingly enjoying his music. You know that Lay’s pistol is hidden behind the body of the instrument.

All of you are waiting, blood circulating in your veins is getting more lively with every passing minute. You are waiting for the sign.

Jongdae kisses your forehead, and you are not sure if it’s a part of your disguise or if his nerves are getting better of him. But then he whispers against your skin.

“Minseok is out of the shop.”

Your pulse quickens. Minseok (nom de guerre Xiumin) was stationed in the furniture shop, waiting for the sign from Baekhyun. Speedy was supposed to call if he confirmed that Junmyeon left the building. No point in attacking the car if your package is not there.

Suddenly the cold bites into your skin, as Jongdae retreats his arm, his hands searching his pockets frantically. You swallow your saliva, trying to moisturize your throat.  Jongdae finds a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and you know that means he saw the sign.

The car is coming.

Jongdae fishes out one cigarette, and you are watching him, as he puts the pack back into his pocket. Yixing stopped playing and after a quick applause his group slowly starts to scatter. Jongdae puts the cigarette between his lips. Chanyeol folds his newspaper and stands up, leaving the paper on the bench. He adjusts his hat and starts walking in your direction. Jongdae starts to fight with the lighter, trying to light his cigarette. Sehun and Kyungsoo run into each other and start arguing on the middle of the street. Jongdae has yet to light his cigarette, his hands stiff. You can hear the car approaching, the beating of your heart so loud it becomes unbearable. The cigarette is still not lighted. You notice how sweaty your hands are, and your grip on the bottle starts slipping. Jongdae once again flips his lighter on. Lay is packing his guitar. Sehun is holding Kyungsoo up by his lapels. No Black in sight. Jongdae is still fighting with the lighter. The car is right behind you, you can hear it, you can smell it. Your arm is cramping from the desperate hold you have on the bottle.

There comes a whistle.

The world around you stills. Suddenly Jongdae has no problem with putting on his lighter, and you move as you’ve been taught, hand coming up from between you, and you turn around, eyes frantically searching for the car. Mind is already calculating the throw. First bottle is already flying, you don’t see the person who threw it, but you are sure it was Chanyeol. Fire from Jongdae’s lighter catches the rag in the neck of your bottle just as you throw it. You know that you’ll miss as soon as the bottle leaves your hand. You couldn’t get a firm grip on the glass.

Chanyeol’s bottle explodes a meter from the hood of the arriving car. Its driver swerves to the left, in clear panic. The driver is a poor fucker, since this maneuver puts him in perfect position for your bottle to hit the hood. It explodes, killing the driver on the spot. The car starts to burn, but it still moves, slowly starting to halt.

Two blacks escape from the burning cab, trying to put out the fire consuming their uniforms. The first one dies from Kyungsoo’s bullet. The second one is dead a second later, his brain splattered on the street, courtesy of Chanyeol.

According to Baekhyun there should be two more Blacks in the back.

Yixing’s group is approaching the car, the back doors suddenly falls open and one Black starts shooting in their way. They immediately react, ducking to the ground and opening fire. Chanyeol with Kyungsoo are approaching form the other side.

You see Jongin running, a brave Black alarmed by the gunshots on his heels. You are surprised how unfazed is Sehun when he raises his arm and kills the enemy, Jongin not even blinking faced with bullet passing by him. He passes the group and you focus back on the car.

Chanyeol’s bullet finally puts end to the Black’s defense, and you know that only one more Black is standing between you and Junmyeon. You suspect that he bunked himself in the car, not wanting to face the danger.

Second wing of the car’s door falls open and Black officer falls on the street. You are surprised, but there is another whistle, so you start running to the car, your body quickly covering in sweat from the heat coming from the burning  hood.

It was the prisoners that pushed the officer out. They saw a chance and they took it, fighting for their freedom. Kyungsoo executes the man, his hand unwavering.

You reach the car, just as Chanyeol shouts.

“What are you waiting for?! Run!” After that ex-prisoners start to emerge from the car. They are all looking horrible, but at least they can walk. You stand next to the doors waiting for them to clear the car, so you can get Junmyeon out.

You can hear the screeching of the tires and you try to take a glance from behind the car wanting  to know what is happening, but hand on your forehead brutally pushes you back into the safety of the car – a second later burst cuts the air just where you were trying to see what’s happening. You can hear the shouts, language of your oppressors, gunshots and roar of fire. It’s too hot, and too dangerous.

You see Junmyeon and you nearly throw up. He is laying under one of the benches. You try to remember whatever you know about the first aid, you try to remember your nurse training, but you know it’s no use. Junmyeon doesn’t need a first aid. He needs a special care. Now.

You can still hear the gunshots, and you look back at Jongdae who is currently giving Chanyeol cartridges. You hear another car coming and your heart is nearly coming out of your chest.

Stolen car halts just next to you. Jongin is sitting in the driver seat and Sehun jumps out of the cab. Chanyeol covers you, when you, Sehun and Jongdae move Junmyeon to the other car. You are crying, because you are not sure if he is still alive. You are crying because you are not even sure what you are looking at. Thoroughly deformed body in just one week.

You are thankful that he is unconscious. Otherwise you don’t know how would you transport him. They lock you with Junmyeon in the backseat. Sehun and Jongin are in the front, Sehun on the shot gun. Jongdae hits the glass to sign that Jongin can leave. And he does, whistle announcing that you got the package.

You look back, Jongdae with Chanyeol creeping on the side of the burning car, to the Black’s patrol car, from where the steady series are coming. You can see Kyungsoo hiding behind the brick wall, reloading. You can see others running away, now, that the most important part is over.

The driver of the patrol’s car slides to the pavement, and the place is lost to your eyes, as Jongin takes the corner.

*

Suho woke up in the safe house. He was a soldier, he was a soldier to the bone, soldier fighting for his country. He did not stand to his report, but his first words accounted of what Blacks questioned him about. His words were slurred, as he had broken jaw, he needed to stop every few sentences, Sehun (nom de guerre: Milky, nobody is sure where it comes from, but the most possible explanation is his pale skin) giving him water. D.O wrote down everything Suho said, and when the ex-prisoner have fallen asleep, he went out to notice the headquarters.

Sehun kept vigil at his side. Junmyeon cried the whole night. His tears kept falling, even when he was sleeping, he cried because of pain, he cried because of the relief of being rescued, he cried because of the shame of the ordeal he had to live through, he cried because he survived, he cried because his friends came for him.

He cried because he didn’t feel his legs.


End file.
